


Hotel Games

by Squeegee



Category: Actor RPF, Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:18:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeegee/pseuds/Squeegee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom and Chris decide to get drunk and talk about how lonely they are. Things go in a very curious direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hotel Games

**Author's Note:**

> There is virtually no plot to this and I'm still not sure if I'm sorry.

It started as a dare, a drunken game that both of them were too stubborn to back out of. “How lonely are you?” Chris was eight months single. Tom was two years. It started with jokes and laughter and shots in a hotel room with two chairs and a table and a bed and skeezy wallpaper that looked like it had been there for nearly a century.

_“I masturbate in the shower.”_

_“I thought about calling a prostitute.”_

_“I’d even bone with a guy.”_

_“I have had sex with a guy.”_

A half bottle of Jack’s later, and he was sprawled out on the bed, bare leg hiked over Tom’s shoulder as teeth and tongue and lips explored his naked stomach. He hadn’t remembered undressing. He didn’t know why Tom hadn’t followed suit. He didn’t care. Tom’s teeth pinched the inside of his thigh and Chris groaned, low and guttural, one hand fisting his friend’s hair while the other scrambled for purchase in haphazard sheets.

“Tom...” It was weak, a plea. This had been going on for nearly ten minutes – Tom touching him, pressing him, brushing him, experimenting. The thin, frail, careful fingers of a sadist crept up his side, nails brushing his ribs, tickling. It crept back down. Tom bit.

Chris’s grip tightened on Tom’s hair, back arching, mouth gaping as he felt a tongue drag itself over the fresh bruises of his thigh, his hip, up to his navel.

_“You shittin’ me?”_

_“No.”_

_“You’d do me?”_

_A smirk. “Yes.”_

Chris knew Tom’s goal even if Tom never said it. He wanted to make him beg. It wouldn’t happen.

It wouldn’t happen even though Tom’s lips were on his hip, his stomach. It wouldn’t happen even though Chris had been hard for he didn’t even know how long, writhing and moaning and gasping as a man fifty pounds lighter unmade him, grabbed the loose threads and pulled and watched him unravel until he was cold and naked and wanting.

Breath ghosted across his length, and Chris whimpered.

“Say it.”

He whined.

The velvet-smooth torture was back, massaging circles into the root of his cock before moving up, pulling away half way through its journey. Chris moaned, the same low, guttural sound. This time it meant defeat.

“Say it.”

“ _Please._ ”

There were fifteen seconds where Chris felt nothing, when he feared Tom was going to leave him like this, sweaty and panting and painfully hard.

Chris loosened his grip on Tom’s hair just as Tom placed his hands on hips, pinning him to the mattress with more force than Tom looked like he was able to exert. And then he felt it.

Familiar lips pressed against the head of his shaft, opening and swallowing him whole. If Tom’s hands weren’t pressing him to the sheets, Chris would have bucked. Instead he groaned, tilted his head back, moved his hand to the back of Tom’s neck as the lips pulled away and almost separated before plunging back down. His nails dug into Tom’s neck, and Tom’s response was a hum, low in the back of his throat as he continued to work up and down, up and down just slow enough to keep Chris on the edge.

Tom’s tongue massaged the underside of his length, waves of pleasure that shot through Chris’s vein like lightning. He gasped, moaned, but then Tom stopped, working him at the same, slow pace. Chris whined and Tom hummed, and he could almost hear that cocky British accent.

_Say it._

Chris’s hand fisted the sheets; his nails dug into Tom’s neck. He tried to thrust, just a little, and was met with rejection as Tom slammed him back against the mattress. The movement stopped, and Chris wanted to scream.

“Please.”

On command, Tom moved, pulled almost all the way off before plunging back down, then faster, then faster, pacing himself with Chris’s erratic breath, his moans, his gasps. Teeth just barely brushed his skin, and this time when Tom hummed, Chris came. His seed coated the back of Tom’s throat, but it never came back up, and as he collapsed against the back of the bed Tom wiggled out from under his leg and moved to join him.

The bulge in Tom’s jeans was prominent as it pressed against his thigh, and Chris felt a now-familiar hand as it moved between them, unbuckling a belt. Tom’s lips were on his ear.

“My turn.”


End file.
